Honour
by President Luthor
Summary: An alluring young Metropolis writer captivates Clark's attention. Has Chloe met her match? A mercenary targets Lex. Alfred returns to England as his military past resurfaces. Will Lex save him -- or destroy him? Sequel to 'Gemini'. COMPLETE
1. CH. 1

'Honour', PG-13  
  
BACKGROUND: The fall semester has begun. Clark has left the turmoil of Gotham City behind. Complications arise in Smallville when a Metropolis- bound bus makes an unexpected detour. The complication? An aspiring – and alluring – dark-haired writer who manages to captivate Clark. Has Chloe met her match? In London, Lex attempts to clean up the fallout of the arms scandal and learns about a dark chapter in the past of Alfred, Bruce Wayne's loyal butler. It seems Alfred's days in the British military are catching up with him. Temperatures run high as Lex faces a dilemma: salvage his tense, but solid friendship with Bruce, or bow to Lionel Luthor's wishes and destroy Bruce's only father figure. All that, and the emerging backroom scheme to parachute Wayne into Congress.  
  
Chapter 1  
  
Bruce Wayne read the Gotham Times. It was Friday afternoon and he had finished his paperwork early.  
  
"Coffee, sir?" Alfred asked.  
  
"Only if you're making yourself a cup as well." Bruce smiled as Alfred prepared two cups of coffee. "Why don't you take a vacation, Alfred? Where do you want to go: Vermont, rafting in the Rockies, ...oh, I know, Hawaii!"  
  
"The only thing tropical I want right now is a good shot of tequilla," Alfred deadpanned. Bruce roared in laughter, but his mood soon changed. Alfred had picked up the Daily Planet. 'PIPE BOMB INJURES FIVE IN LONDONDERRY: IRA SPLINTER GROUP IS RESPONSIBLE'  
  
Alfred had spent 15 years in the British military, first in the British Navy then as an intelligence officer with the army. He was there – 30 years ago – when sectarian violence exploded across Northern Ireland. And by virtue of his uniform, he had taken sides. He was always guilty about his involvement in The Troubles, but that was all Alfred would reveal to Bruce. He kept the rest to himself.  
  
Alfred pounded the desk. "Damn. Will the violence never stop!" Bruce knew that Alfred was sensitive about the tense situation in Northern Ireland. Alfred stepped closer to the window and looked across the Gotham skyline. Looking eastward – to another life, another world.  
  
It wasn't his fault. In 1972, Alfred was a young twenty-something intelligence officer with the British Army. Sent to uncover a network of so- called 'republican terrorists', Alfred achieved some measure of success. Weapons dumps. Mid-level republican commanders. Minor bomb factory raids. He was there when a group of Catholic activists protested the heavy-handed treatment of the occupying British forces. "It's a protest. They're not throwing rocks at us," Alfred had remarked. The troops formed a defensive perimeter. Alfred stepped aside to get a smoke – a nasty habit he finally gave up in the '70s. Then he heard the shots. And saw the casualties. Alfred tried to maintain restraint in the ranks, but it was too late. The entire province would soon plunge into decades of tit-for-tat violence: killings, bombings, a civil war between neighbours. He would leave the army – and England – for good within weeks of the Bloody Sunday massacre.  
  
"You should go on vacation. Heck, take a month off. God knows you've earned it," Bruce said.  
  
"I could have done something, Master Bruce," Alfred mumbled.  
  
"Take a vacation. Think about it," Bruce urged, "Please."  
  
[Outside Smallville]  
  
Clark opened the window of his truck. He was feeling great. He just had lunch at Lana Lang's house. They talked for hours about Gotham City, the fall semester, the Crows' chances for a state championship. He had plans to go into town, maybe shoot some hoop with Pete. On the horizon he saw a bus. Greyhound. The passengers were milling about in the fields next to the bus.  
  
Clark stepped out. "What seems to be the problem?"  
  
The driver wiped his forehead. "A tire blew out. And my radio's on the fritz."  
  
"Mine isn't." Clark jumped into his truck and picked up the CB. "Guardian, this is Farmboy, over. Guardian, this is Farmboy requesting assistance 5 miles north of Smallville. Bus with blown tire. Do you read?"  
  
"Guardian here. Sending squad car and mechanic, over. Do you copy, Farmboy?"  
  
"I copy, Guardian. Farmboy out."  
  
The driver looked puzzled. Clark grinned. "The sheriff is sending a car over. And a mechanic."  
  
"Thanks for your help," a voice said. Clark turned around. It was a dark- haired girl, around Clark's age.  
  
"Not a problem. It's a Saturday afternoon. I've got time to kill. I'm Clark – Clark Kent."  
  
The dark-haired girl smiled. "I'm Lois Lane." 


	2. CH. 2

Chapter 2  
  
[Luthor Corp., European HQ in London]  
  
The communications director continued: "... so our public relations efforts have improved our image throughout the world: Asia, Latin America, Europe ... but we still need work in the U.S."  
  
Lionel interrupted: "And the results of our private polling?"  
  
"Numbers aren't too bad. About 47% of Americans believe Luthor has nothing to do with arms dealing. However..." Lionel raised an eyebrow.  
  
The director continued. "Roughly 36% hold Luthor Corp. in low esteem. They seem to be suspicious of our success. "  
  
Lex smirked. "Even Microsoft has better numbers than that."  
  
Lionel glared at his son. "Well, we just have to keep up the pressure, now, won't we? We just sponsor a few marathons, throw a charity gala for cancer, diabetes – whatever."  
  
Lex shrugged and shook his head. "The public's not going to buy that, dad. It'll seem like we're trying to buy them off."  
  
The director interjected. "He's right, Mr. Luthor. Our best response is to lay low – don't attract attention to our work. Then ..."  
  
"...one bold gesture, say, a reforestation project ... spread them out over the year. Subtle, but effective." Lex clearly enjoyed showing up his father.  
  
Lionel, however, was not enjoying his son's bravado. "That'll be all, gentlemen." The directors left, leaving father and son to sort out their differences.  
  
"Lex ..." Lionel was about to give another lecture, but after the events of the past summer –: Lex's brush with death, the arms scandal that nearly crushed their empire, the attempts on Bruce Wayne's life – Lex was not going to stand for it. He clutched his cane – a reminder of the near-fatal bomb that tore his car apart a month ago – and stood up.  
  
"Father, I was the one who sent our UK law firm to seize those files from Scotland Yard. I was the one who kept the arms scandal from seeping into the prosecution's briefs at the Hague ..."  
  
"And you expect some sort of congratulations?" Lionel was irritated with this outburst.  
  
"I've learned a long time ago not to expect thanks yous or pats from the back from you. You may not care how the world perceives the Luthor name. I do. I'll do whatever it takes to defend it. You should know that by now."  
  
Lionel was already distracted. He turned up the television. "... recently de-classified files from British intelligence reveal that there may be a direct link between the government and the Bloody Sunday massacre 30 years ago ..."  
  
"Old wounds never heal," Lex remarked, but Lionel silenced him.  
  
The report continued: "...files reveal that a British intelligence officer, a Captain Pennyworth, may have given British troops in Londonderry the order to 'use extreme force' ... the Irish prime minister has called for an investigation ..."  
  
Pennyworth, Lex thought, now where have I heard that name before?  
  
Lionel laughed. "A-ha! Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce Wayne's manservant. He used to be in the British Army – as an intelligence officer!" He was already scheming. "This certainly won't play well in the American press, I dare say." He gathered his things and left for a few impromptu meetings with his tabloid publishers. Now I've got you, Wayne, Lionel snickered to himself.  
  
Lex immediately dialed his cell. "Yes, bring the car around. We're going to Wayne Enterprises Tower. Now." I have to give Bruce fair warning. My father is definitely up to something.  
  
[Outside Smallville]  
  
The mechanic wiped his brow. "I'm afraid it's more than just a flat tire. The axle will have to be replaced."  
  
The driver returned from the sheriff's car. "Greyhound says they'll send another bus over. But with the increased demand right now – college kids going back to class, etc. – it'll be at least a few days."  
  
Clark shook his head. "Smallville doesn't rate on their priorites, I guess."  
  
The driver shrugged his shoulders. "At least they said they'll put up the passengers at the Holiday Inn."  
  
"Metropolis will have to wait, I guess," Lois pouted.  
  
"Why were you going to Metropolis?" Clark wondered.  
  
"I'm from Metropolis. I was just returning from Chicago, visiting my aunt. I'll probably stick around in Metropolis for college, too."  
  
"The journalism school?" Clark hoped.  
  
Lois shook her head. "Oh no. The creative writing program. It's small, but I hear it's really good."  
  
A school bus arrived to pick up the passengers. Lois was about to climb aboard.  
  
Clark stopped her. "I could ... give you a lift to the hotel?! Maybe show you around town?"  
  
Lois smiled. The strong, silent type was her kind of guy. "Sure!" The truck sped off and arrived at the Smallville Holiday Inn.  
  
[The Torch office]  
  
Chloe was not pleased. The Daily Planet's headline said it all: 'LUTHOR CORP EXONERATED: JUSTICE DEPT. SHELVES INVESTIGATION' "Doesn't this tick you off?" she asked Pete.  
  
"I've been saying this sort of stuff since Lex Luthor showed up here. The Luthors are guilty as hell – whether it's arms trading, trying to kill Bruce Wayne – if it smells bad, it is bad." He caught a glimpse of the entertainment section. "Whoa, is that Drew Barrymore?"  
  
Chloe punched Pete in the shoulder. "We have work to do. Mrs. Kent will be by to take the Torch to the publisher this afternoon!"  
  
Pete messed up Chloe's hair. "Geez, one internship at the Daily Planet and she thinks she's Katie Couric." Chloe threw a ball of scrap paper at Pete.  
  
The Torch office door opened. Clark looked down at the scrap paper. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"  
  
Chloe laughed. "No, we're just trying to get the paper out by ..." Then she walked in. The dark-haired girl peered into the office, her face framed by what seemed like a halo of sunlight.  
  
"Guys, this is Lois Lane from Metropolis. She's a writer too!"  
  
"Hey, how you doin'?" Pete bowed before Lois.  
  
"Alright, alright, Joey," Clark grinned. "This is Smallville, not 'Friends."  
  
No doubt about it, Chloe thought, she's cute. And clearly enamoured with Clark Kent.  
  
Chloe extended her hand. "I'm Chloe Sullivan, Clark's close friend." Emphasis on close.  
  
[Outside Luthor Corp. HQ, London]  
  
Lex Luthor wrapped his overcoat snugly around him. London was misty and cold today. He stepped into the limousine and sped off towards Wayne Enterprises Tower.  
  
Alexei hopped into a cab. "Follow that limo."  
  
The cabbie chuckled. "What, like in the movies? It's almost quitting time. The traffic will be brutal!"  
  
Alexei pulled out his gun. "I don't have time for chit-chat. Follow!" The cabbie knew better than to argue. He had a wife and three kids to support.  
  
Alexei looked outside the window at the Thames. There was also a stream near his home in Chechnya. When the Russians invaded a few years ago, all the men of his town took up arms to defend their homes. For a while they succeeded, thanks to clandestine help from the West. Soon, the tables turned. Someone was providing the Russians with superior technology: smart bombs, infrared equipment, armour-piercing bullets. Alexei and his squad raided a weapons cache. The letters 'LL' was etched in the weapons and bombs. The raid was the last straw for the Russians. They would destroy Alexei's town. Salt the earth. The firefight was hideous. The bodies of his comrades-in-arms lay strewn across the main road as the Russians took each block, destroying every house. His mother only wanted to save her house from the tanks. A Russian sniper mistook her for a gunman and shot her dead.  
  
I didn't even have time to bury her, Alexei thought. He fled and soon joined an unsavory group of mercenaries and smugglers in Albania. That was merely for convenience. They told him that Luthor provided most of the weapons used by the pro-Russian forces.  
  
He failed to kill Lex in Smallville this summer. There would be no mistakes this time.  
  
"We're here, mister," the cabbie announced, "what now?"  
  
Alexei rested the gun's nozzle against the cabbie's temple. "We wait. Do as I tell you and you shall live." He looked at the picture of the cabbie's children clipped on the mirror. "Do not – and your children will know of life without a father."  
  
He watched Lex climb the stairs to Wayne Enterprises Tower. Luthor gave the Russians those weapons. They are as guilty as the Red Army ... more so. His son will beg for death at my hands. I shall oblige him. Then, mother, you shall be at peace. 


	3. CH. 3

Chapter 3  
  
The elevator door opened. Lex was on the 54th floor, expecting to see one of Wayne Enterprises' minor executives. I'll just let Bruce know that Father is up to something. Hopefully keep him one step ahead of whatever scheme is brewing. Lex trusted few among the upper-class set. Too many hidden agendas. Like the Luthors. Bruce was different. He judged people on their character, not on their family lineage or bank account.  
  
I am not going to be like my dad: looking over my shoulder – expecting someone to surpass me.  
  
The receptionist gasped as she saw Lex step into the wood-panelled waiting lounge. He winced as he leaned on the counter. That leg was still bothering him  
  
"You're ... you're ..." she began.  
  
"Lex Luthor, heir apparent to Luthor Corp. Blessed with a second chance after nearly dying in a car explosion. Scourge of Wall Street. Recently exonerated from any involvement in the now-famous 'Bosnian arms scandal'."  
  
He leaned closer towards the receptionist. "Look, I don't have time for chit chat. Just direct me to the highest ranking executive here and ..."  
  
"That would be me," a booming voice uttered. Lex turned around. Great. Lucius Fox was here. In London. Lucius is not a man to cross, Lionel Luthor had warned him at one time. Every Caesar needs a good general – and Lucius Fox, chief operating officer of Wayne Corp. – knew how to command the Wayne empire well  
  
Lex entered the executive suite. A photo of Thomas Wayne beside Jimmy Carter stared back at Lex, who remembered that Wayne Sr. had been at the State Department in the 70s. Thomas Wayne could have run for president, Lex thought, but he chose business instead. Would Bruce ever fulfil his father's legacy and run for office?  
  
Lucius shuffled some papers on the desk. "Congratulations, Mr. Luthor, on your court victory. It seems you managed to save the family name again. My regards to your father." Lucius was in London for business. Officially, he was here to oversee yet another high-tech partnership between Wayne Corp.'s fibre optics division and a British hardware firm.  
  
Unofficially, he was here to monitor the European developments of the Luthor arms trial. In the event solid evidence proved the Luthors guilty, Lucius would be there to pull all the strings to ensure that Lionel never escaped Europe. Lucius was a loyal friend of Thomas since their college days. Lucius flinched as he recalled the torment young Bruce and Alfred went through as the Luthor tabloids cast a shadow of baseless rumours and lies over the Wayne legacy. If not for Bruce's tireless efforts to reclaim that dignity, the mudslinging could have stained the family reputation permanently.  
  
Lex treaded carefully. "Mr. Fox, I know you and my father have had their ...differences...."  
  
Lucius stood up. "Differences?! Lionel nearly destroyed Thomas Wayne's reputation. He's a vulture. His actions in and out of the boardroom merely prove my point."  
  
Lex was going to interrupt, but Lucius continued. "If you think I'm going to buy that your father never had a part in that whole arms scandal, you're barking up the wrong tree."  
  
Lex bit his lip. I'm not going to shoulder Father's sins. "I'm here as a friend of Bruce. He seems to be prepared to look past my father's past deeds and accept me at face value. I was hoping that you would, too."  
  
Lucius looked directly at Lex, who seemed to have the same cold, determined gaze as his father, Lionel.  
  
"Did you read what your father had published about Thomas Wayne? Innuendos about extra-marital affairs that never existed. Labelling Martha as a manic depressive. Accusing Thomas of trading secrets with the Soviets. Crap, all of it!!"  
  
"I am not my father. He has been – and can be – reckless. Thomas Wayne has been lionized as one of America's great statemen. I don't dispute the Wayne family's contributions to America, regardless of my father's senseless blood feud. But even you can appreciate that all people keep skeletons. Skeletons we would rather not reveal to the public. Just think of the Kennedys."  
  
Lucius was uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was going. "So you're comparing Wayne to the Kennedys now?!?"  
  
"No. In my experience, every rumour has a grain of truth. Bruce Wayne – the man I know – has the capacity to be greater than any Kennedy – if he chose to."  
  
Lucius scoffed. "What do you know. All you hear about is the legends, the Biography specials about the 'tragic' life of the Wayne dynasty. You forget I was there! When Alfred had to pick up Bruce from school because the schoolyard kids called his dad a traitor! And who fed them that trash?!. Your father's tabloids!" Lucius picked up the late-run edition of the scandalous The Sizzle tabloid. The cover: 'WAYNE MANSERVANT ALFRED: BLOODY SUNDAY BUTCHER??' He flung it at Lex.  
  
"I assume your father is already slapping this story on his morning tabloids. History repeats itself again," Lucius muttered. Lex gazed at the full-page photo of a young Alfred in his British Army uniform, smoking on the infamous street where the Northern Ireland's powderkeg of sectarian violence was born.  
  
"I called Bruce this morning," Lucius concluded, "I wanted him to hear it from a friend first – not from Lionel Luthor's supermarket rags. You can show yourself out, Mr. Luthor."  
  
Nice going, Lex told himself, you came here hoping to offer an olive branch. You're leaving after successfully pissing off the right-hand man of Wayne Corp.  
  
[Capitol Hill, Washington]  
  
The senator picked up his phone. "Senator McIntosh is thinking of retirement, but he wants to make sure the Gotham district remains in party hands. He's unsure, but I think he'll step aside – once we offer him a cosy post at the UN. Bruce Wayne – under the Democratic banner – will be a shoo- in for Congress. We plan to make a formal pitch to him by the end of the month. Yes, I will keep you updated."  
  
Bruce Wayne will run for Congress, the senator smiled. He has no choice. I'll make sure of that. 


	4. CH. 4

Chapter 4  
  
[Lana's new eatery]  
  
Clark held open the door for Lois Lane and Chloe.  
  
"Niiice," Lois remarked, "I like the decor." She settled in one of the couches in the corner.  
  
Chloe immediately dashed to another couch. There's just enough space for Clark, she thought.  
  
Clark glanced at Lois, then at Chloe. Great, another choice ... another test. He sat beside the new girl Lois, but not too close. Hopefully Chloe won't take offense. Chloe's slight pout told him otherwise.  
  
"May I take your order?" Lana beamed, and acknowledged Lois.  
  
"I'll have a cola, thanks," Lois replied. Clark ordered a chocolate sundae.  
  
"I'll just have a glass of water," Chloe smiled at Lana, who left for the backroom.  
  
"So you're going to Metropolis U.?" Chloe asked Lois.  
  
"Yeah. I know I want to be a writer of some sort. But whether that means in marketing, publishing, I can't say for sure right now."  
  
Point one for Chloe Sullivan, Chloe thought. Clark wants to be a reporter – and so do I.  
  
"Well, I'm going to their school of journalism. One of the best in the country."  
  
Lois looked over some issues of The Torch. "I got a chance to read some of your work. You're very good!"  
  
"And what about you, Clark, where does your destiny lie?" Chloe asked.  
  
Clark thought of the summer of turmoil he endured. The assassination attempts on Bruce – and still no suspects. Lex's brush with death. Clark didn't want to be a hero: it was thrust upon him. An accident of birth, he often thought. Right now I don't know what I want in my life. Who I want in my life.  
  
"Earth to Clark Kent," Chloe waved in his face, "you were on another planet for a minute there!"  
  
"I doubt Lois wants to know about my boring farmer's life. Nothing but seeds, hay and early mornings. Could I read some of your writings?" Clark inquired. Lois pulled out a dog-eared binder full of her work. Stories. Poetry. Essays. Clark shared a laugh with Lois, who brushed back her dark hair. So natural. Her growing familiarity with Clark, who definitely enjoyed spending time with this new visitor.  
  
It's more than just Clark having a thing for brunettes, Chloe thought. Could he ... be falling in love with Lois Lane???  
  
Lana burst into the room. "Guys, look at this!!" She clicked on the television. "Something big's happening in London."  
  
Clark's mind raced. The arms scandal. Lex was there trying to salvage his family name.  
  
Tom Brokaw stood in front of London Bridge. "Reports are just filtering out today. It appears to be more than just idle gossip from England's notorious tabloids. The Guardian, BBC and The Telegraph are now running these stories. Stories about former British army captain Alfred Pennyworth and emerging evidence that he had given the order to fire on Catholic protesters 30 years ago, spawning decades of sectarian violence. Here we have Lucius Fox, a Wayne Corp. exec and friend of former State Department legend Thomas Wayne. Will Bruce Wayne be making any statements?"  
  
Lucius cleared his throat. "This is a travesty. Undoubtedly a smear campaign designed to take the heat off Wayne's competitors."  
  
"Are you suggesting Luthor involvement in these emerging allegations?"  
  
"What I'm saying is I've known Alfred Pennyworth for a quarter of a century. He is a man of honour, dignity and compassion. You're judged by the company you keep ... and I'm privileged to call Al a buddy of mine. Bruce will be making a comment on the situation shortly."  
  
Lois gasped. "Poor Mr. Wayne, after all he's been through ... and now this."  
  
Clark gathered his jacket. "I've got to call Wayne Manor." He brushed past Pete, who nearly dropped his milkshake.  
  
"What's Kent up to? Going off to play hero again??"  
  
"Something like that," Chloe grumbled. He always does that. When are you going to take time out for yourself and take it easy on the whole angst- ridden martyr routine?  
  
[Wayne Manor, Gotham City]  
  
Alfred was in his room. Looking at the old photo of his navy buddies. Gibraltar, 1968. Back then he had no idea he would be in Northern Ireland four years later, witnessing the birth of three decades of tit-for-tat violence. The ordinary citizen became political pawns. Victims – of a 300 year old battle.  
  
He packed his luggage and walked to the study, where Bruce was reading the Daily Planet.  
  
"It looks like the Justice Department is canning the Luthor investigation ..." Bruce remarked, then saw Alfred in a sharp pinstriped suit and bowler cap.  
  
"I wish to take leave. Immediately. I believe I have four weeks due."  
  
"A vacation?!" Please be a vacation, Alfred. Let me fight this battle for you. You have done enough. I shall defend your honour. You saved me – my sanity – more times than I can remember.  
  
"I shall be going home. Some affairs to attend to."  
  
"You're innocent, Alfred. I don't buy one iota of that garbage in the press! I don't care if Perry White himself concludes that you're guilty. We'll fight this. Lucius is in London now. I'm ending this nonsense. Now.  
  
"Bruce, it's not your fight. It's my name I have to defend. I was there, 30 years ago. I'm at least guilty by association."  
  
"You were just one man. You tried to stop the shooting."  
  
Bruce flipped the channel. "This is Larry King. We're talking with a Sinn Fein representative, who wants the Blair government to expand the Bloody Sunday inquiry to investigate any army/intelligence collusion in the massacre."  
  
Alfred wiped his forehead with a pristine white handkerchief. "It's been a long, long time. Maybe my mere presence as an intelligence officer was the cue. The cue to use lethal force. Or maybe ... I said something that ... "  
  
Bruce picked up the phone. "This is ridiculous!" He dialed. "Yes, I want 10 Downing Street. Prime Minister's office."  
  
Alfred hung up the phone. "No, Master Bruce. Don't pull any strings for me. Whoever is perpetuating these allegations – they're trying to get at you. Through me. I've danced this waltz before, remember? We'll pull through again." He gave Bruce a hug.  
  
"Touch base with Lucius, ok. He'll fix you up with some wheels. And you're staying at my flat there."  
  
"I have reservations at the Hilton. I'm not going to impose on you while I'm there. My flight leaves for Heathrow in about two hours. My cab is already here. Now help me with my luggage and make some use of yourself, will you?!"  
  
Bruce hurried ahead, slinging the carry-on luggage over his shoulder. Alfred glanced at the photo of Thomas and Martha Wayne. I won't let my past mistakes taint the Waynes. I'm getting to the bottom of this.  
  
[House of Parliament, London]  
  
Mr. Entwistle, MP browsed through a stack of newspapers. Tabloids, legitimate broadsheets, and a few American papers. All of them contained reports of Alfred Pennyworth's alleged role in the Bloody Sunday massacre. The inquiry was getting close. In time, sealed MI5 documents would be released. In those files, any journalist with half a brain would conclude that the recommendation to use "lethal force" came from a Mr. Entwistle: at the time, a section chief at MI5.  
  
Captain Alfred Pennyworth recommended that the troops stand down. "Any aggressiveness on our part would seem antagonistic, even anti-Irish," the young intelligence officer had written in his report. Luckily, Mr. Entwistle shredded that document. The only one that could exonerate Alfred.  
  
Mr. Entwistle was a rising star in parliament, with eyes on the Prime Minister's office. One self-righteous butler would be a fair sacrifice, it seemed to Mr. Entwistle. If the media want to blame Lionel Luthor for the mudslinging, so be it. 


	5. CH. 5 (NEW!)

[Harbourside Park, Gotham City, 20 years ago]  
  
Little Bruce Wayne, age 5, cheered as he scored the winning goal for the Gotham Mighty Tykes peewee soccer team. A 2-1 victory against their rival, the Metropolis Mites.  
  
Thomas Wayne noticed – even then – that Bruce had exceptional talent. He was already reading at a Grade 1 level and was playing the piano like a natural. He's going to be a great man someday, he thought.  
  
Bruce raised his hands in victory as his little teammates crowded around him. Martha Wayne smiled. Bruce was the best thing to have happened to the Waynes. "Look at Brucie, he's so happy!" Martha turned to her husband. He was gone.  
  
She looked across the field. Where is Tom? She spotted Alfred talking on the phone in the clubhouse. His expression immediately turned grey. Thomas picked up the receiver. It was for him. Thomas' stood expressionless at whatever news he was hearing from the other end.  
  
"I've got to run, honey, it's an emergency!!" Thomas gave her a peck on the cheek, then dashed to his son.  
  
"Daddy, we won! We won!" Bruce smiled.  
  
Thomas hugged him. "Daddy has to go on a trip now, but I'll be back by the weekend, okay?" He turned around quickly. I don't want my son to see me upset.  
  
Bruce ran off to high-five the rest of his team. Thomas waved again to Martha, then disappeared into a taxi.  
  
"Alfred, what's wrong?" Martha wondered. Alfred bowed his head ... and explained. Wayne Corp. was launching a new line of biscuits and sweets as part of a trans-Atlantic partnership with the Marks & Spencer retail franchise. A dozen of Wayne's European employees were to attend the grand opening.  
  
The store never opened.  
  
A series of police raids in Londonderry had provoked the republicans into action. An example had to be made against British tyranny. The new Marks & Spencer store – a symbol of the British corporate establishment – was the chosen target. The bomb went off about 10 minutes before the opening. The customers were spared.  
  
Sadly, a handful of Marks & Spencer managers – and Wayne Corp.'s entourage of 12 employees – died instantly.  
  
Martha placed a comforting hand on Alfred's shoulder. He had left England behind. But he kept the guilt with him.  
  
Bruce ran up to Alfred. "Why are you sad, Alfie?" Alfred would usually wince at the sound of his pet name. Not today.  
  
"Your dad is going to London. Across the ocean. To England."  
  
Bruce toyed with a soccer ball. "You were a soldier in England, right?"  
  
Alfred recalled that dreaded day. Bloody Sunday. "You are not to antagonize the protesters," he had informed the troops as the protest march began. That day should never have happened.  
  
"Yes, Master Bruce, I was a soldier once."  
  
[Wayne Corp. HQ]  
  
Bruce slammed the phone. Lionel Luthor stuck to his guns. He would not yank the story from his tabloids.  
  
"The people have a right to know, Mr. Wayne. I'm only providing what they're demanding," Lionel had gloated.  
  
"With headlines like 'CAPTAIN AL: RUTHLESS BUTLER KNEE-DEEP IN IRISH BLOOD FEUD'?! If you're trying to get at me through Alfred, why not just slander me with society gossip like you always do!"  
  
"Bruce," Lionel smirked, "my world does not revolve around you. You may believe you're the centre of the universe. I and my readers do not!"  
  
Bruce briefly considered a court injunction to halt the Luthor presses. That wouldn't work. Even the reputable Daily Planet had printed a story about the 'paper trail' that implicated Alfred in the darkest day in modern Anglo-Irish history.  
  
I can do nothing about the situation in England. I could sue every London tabloid without breaking a sweat, but that would just feed their frenzy. And Alfred asked me not to intervene.  
  
Perhaps not in Britain. Here, in the U.S., Bruce Wayne would pour the strength of his empire and his reputation into this campaign.  
  
Bruce dialed his press liaison. "Yes, the Gotham Hall of Justice. I will be making a statement there for the six o'clock news. Let all the major networks know. Remember – six o'clock sharp!"  
  
Alfred was more than a friend. In many ways, he was an elder brother/uncle/father-figure all rolled into one. Rest easy, Alfred. I intend to carry on the fight here. And I intend to win.  
  
[Fleet Street financial district, London]  
  
Lex saw the fog settle across the city. Despite the protests of his bodyguards, he insisted on taking a walk alone. The condo was only a few blocks away.  
  
Lex passed a newsstand. "So what's the latest news?" he inquired.  
  
"See for yourself," the dealer remarked. Every headline referred to the emerging details about the Bloody Sunday affair. PENNYWORTH TO DEFEND HIS NAME. SINN FEIN DEMANDS ARREST OF FORMER INTEL OFFICER. ANGLO-IRISH INQUIRY EXPANDS MANDATE. GOVERNMENT TRIES TO BLOCK FILES FROM PUBLIC VIEW.  
  
Lex refused to even read the tabloids. Luthor tabloids. Why does my father hate the Wayne family so much? Jealousy?! Perhaps. Revenge? Possibly. I don't know Alfred that well. A few soirees in Metropolis. A chance meeting at some charity galas. He seemed to be a nice guy.  
  
Lionel wrote off the butler as a pathetic ornament the Waynes trotted out to show off their immense wealth. "Those East Coast bluebloods want attention. They crave it. The whole butler routine is just an affectation."  
  
The "Alfred affair" was taking on a life of its own in the press. As a board member of Luthor Publishing UK, Lex had the power to make life difficult for any editor who dared to challenge his family. He had already fired one editor for "professional misconduct." In reality, he was axed because he published a potentially damaging story about alleged Third World labour conditions in their Mexican textiles plant.  
  
Lex smiled. Time to flex some corporate muscle. He was about to speed-dial the editor of Gasp! -- the hottest Luthor tabloid in Britain – when a taxi screeched beside him.  
  
A man in a ski mask barked at the driver. "Get out!" The driver opened the door and fled. The masked man then addressed Lex in what seemed to be an Eastern European accent.  
  
"Get inside!" the man ordered.  
  
Lex trusted his instincts. They were telling him that he'd be writing his own death sentence if he got into that cab. A hotel was three blocks away. I get into the hotel, there'll be plenty of witnesses. What's he going to do ... shoot me in front of dozens of people?!  
  
He began to run, but he felt a surge of pain in his wounded leg. Someone grabbed his waist and tackled him to the ground. Lex's cane flew across the street.  
  
Lex was raised to fight. Never surrender. He struggled against the much larger man. "If you're going to kill me, at least be a man about it and show your face! Or are you really a coward?!"  
  
Alexei removed his mask and began to choke Lex. "You will die, Luthor. I died a long time ago. Your father made sure of that. Are you prepared to die now?" He could see the fear in Lex's eyes. Who's the coward now?  
  
He clubbed Lex with his gun. Stunned, Lex collapsed on the pavement. Alexei tossed his prey into the backseat and hopped into the stolen cab.  
  
Alexei had plans for Lex. This afternoon, this night, the sole heir of Luthor Corp. would know pain. Perhaps he would see the sun rise before he died. Perhaps not. My mother was left to die with a sniper's bullet in her chest. A bullet made by Luthor Corp.'s military division, purchased by the Russian Army to be used against the Chechens. My people. Maybe I will allow Lex to live to see the morning. He will know that it will be his last.  
  
Then I will kill him.  
  
[House of Parliament, London]  
  
Mr. Entwistle, MP sat down. Many MPs applauded his proposal. He had just called for sweeping police powers in Northern Ireland. The radicals in the republican movement were promising to scuttle the Good Friday peace accord. The commanders of the Real IRA and other splinter groups were musing about more bombings and political killings.  
  
Although far from unanimous, the cheers were boisterous. The Prime Minister winced at the display. These blowhards are going to complicate the peace process. And with the Pennyworth affair, tensions were quickly escalating.  
  
Mr. Entwistle and the prime minister were right to be wary, although not for the same reasons. The peace process was indeed in danger. Sean would make it so. A brigade commander with the Brotherhood of the Lyre, he was in the enemy's country for one mission. To kill. The Brotherhood were once loyal to the IRA. But they would not swallow the so-called peace accord. A free and united Ireland was in their grasp. A fleeting 300-year old dream that could be reality within years. But no, the IRA had to sell out. Now they want our guns.  
  
Sean would have none of it. No compromise. He helped to found the Brotherhood with other malcontents in the republican movement. The war of Irish liberation – as far as he was concerned – would continue. Bombings. Assassinations. All of it, until every county in Northern Ireland was free of British troops ... and British government. Only then would his brigade lay down their arms.  
  
He glanced at Big Ben. Almost dinnertime. I need to pick a target. Someone who will galvanize the silent majority into rejecting the humiliation of the peace accord. Someone who represents all the evils of British imperialism. He glanced at his folded copy of the Guardian. PENNYWORTH TO APPEAR BEFORE INQUIRY. MP CALLS FOR SWEEPING POLICE POWERS IN N. IRELAND.  
  
Sean read the story. He grinned. Good, he thought. Now I have my target. 


	6. CH. 6 (NEW!)

"[Arrivals terminal, Heathrow Airport, London]  
  
Alfred put away his passport. He had just cleared customs and was immediately bombarded with a throng of British media. Cameras, microphones and tape recorders jostled for his attention.  
  
"Will you be appearing before the inquiry this week, Mr. Pennyworth?" "What are your views on the Good Friday accord?" "Do you support the continuation of direct British rule over Northern Ireland?" "Do you recognize the presence of Sinn Fein in the Commons?" "Do you regret your role in the Bloody Sunday Massacre?"  
  
"Mr. Pennyworth will have no comment at this time," Lucius Fox stated. He ushered Alfred into a waiting company car. Alfred sat expressionless in the back seat as it whisked away from Heathrow.  
  
"I told Master Bruce – specifically – not to intervene on my behalf," Alfred grumbled. I detest it when he doesn't listen to my instructions.  
  
"And he promises he won't meddle in your business here," Lucius tried to placate him. "What he does in America, well, that's anybody's guess. You're at the Hilton, right?"  
  
Alfred nodded. Driving through the streets of his homeland, 30-year-old memories flooded his mind. He recalled the joyous arrival of his destroyer at the port of Dover. Prince Philip had congratulated them for their dedication. He had spent years defending British interests at Gibraltar and the western Mediterranean. Then he received a request to serve again. Army intelligence wanted his services: the brewing clashes between Protestant and Catholic in the tumultuous province of Northern Ireland.  
  
They passed Buckingham Palace. He was there years ago: his final stop before leaving England for good.  
  
"I know it's not your fault ... the Irish situation. I beg you to reconsider." Prince Philip, as colonel-in-chief of Alfred's regiment, had thought that his intervention may yet keep the gallant officer in Her Majesty's army. "The Army needs leaders like you. Men of honour, not of opportunism. I refuse to accept your resignation, Captain."  
  
"I'm sorry, Your Highness. After what happened, I fear that I no longer have any confidence in the government's ability to handle the crisis responsibly. I thank you for your advice ... and friendship. My decision is final."  
  
Prince Philip bowed his head. He knew the next few years would mark a dark chapter in Anglo-Irish relations. Alfred saluted. "God save the Queen." The prince exchanged the salute and watched his friend leave. I have lost a friend ... and the country has lost one of its bravest sons.  
  
"Alfred, the corporation's resources are at your disposal. If you need anything ... anything at all, I'm only a phone call away," Lucius held open the car door.  
  
"Thank you, Lucius." Alfred tried to put on a brave face. "We shall see better days yet. I'm sure of it." Alfred picked up his luggage and walked through the Hilton's revolving doors.  
  
One phone call, Lucius thought, and we could have the London press barons on their knees. Including Lionel and his UK rag, the Gasp! But Bruce gave his word. We won't interfere here. He looked at today's front page of the Gasp! 'WAYNE MANSERVANT PLEADS INNOCENT: I'M NO MURDERER!!'  
  
Lucius flung the tabloid into the garbage. If you take down Al, Mr. Luthor, I promise you'll regret you tangled with Lucius Fox.  
  
[Smallville]  
  
Clark couldn't get through to Gotham City. All the lines were busy.  
  
Chloe and Pete ran to Clark. "We were just by the Beanery," Chloe stated, "The radio said Bruce Wayne was planning a news conference around suppertime. Every network in America is going to be there."  
  
Lois caught up with them. "What's happening?"  
  
"Bruce Wayne is a good friend of Clark's," Pete explained, "and now his butler is in hot water in Britain."  
  
Lois saw that Clark was upset. "Mr. Wayne is a good man. I'm sure he and his butler will pull through."  
  
Clark checked the town clocktower. "The sun's still out. Hey, Lois, maybe I can show you my family's farm before dinner." Lois nodded. Cool, a field trip!  
  
Chloe did not like all the attention Clark was showering on this girl from Metropolis. "Umm, okay. Clark, we'll keep tabs on the Wayne news conference. I'll call you later?!" But Clark and Lois had already zoomed off.  
  
"Don't you feel that sometimes," Pete began, "that Clark ... takes us for granted?!"  
  
Chloe frowned. "I think we're on the same wavelength on that one, Pete."  
  
***  
  
Clark pulled up the truck a few miles from the Kent farmhouse. They wandered through the cornfield. "Here's where that meteor hit about 20 years ago."  
  
Lois held the soil in her hands. "I'm surprised they can still grow crops here."  
  
"Well, for a few years, they couldn't, but Mother Nature seems to have a way of setting things right."  
  
Lois wiped her forehead. "Clark, are you finding it hot in here?"  
  
"No, why?"  
  
"It's just that –" Lois collapsed on the ground. Clark ran to her side. She's unconscious. And burning up!  
  
No. Could it be ... the traces of Kryptonite in the soil?!  
  
Clark picked her up. I've got to get her to the hospital! He ran through the fields, zipping past his farmhouse and several acres. In two minutes he was in the emergency ward.  
  
"Help! Somebody get a doctor!" Clark yelled. A few nurses scrambled and placed Lois on a stretcher.  
  
Clark was about to follow her in when the resident doctor stopped him.  
  
"I'm afraid you'll have to wait out here, son. I don't know for certain, but it appears that she has an acute allergic reaction. We'll keep you informed of her progress."  
  
Clark called his house. "Hi, Mom?! Something's happened to a friend of mine. I'm at the hospital." Clark sat in the waiting lounge. All the powers in the world ... and I can do absolutely nothing. I hate feeling helpless.  
  
[Abandoned warehouse, London's east end]  
  
Alexei poured a bucket of cold water on Lex to revive him.  
  
Lex coughed up the water. "What ... where? Where am I?"  
  
Alexei pulled Lex up and shoved him into a chair. "We are going to get acquainted, Lex Luthor. I did not have the opportunity to introduce myself in Smallville earlier this summer."  
  
Lex gasped. "You! You're the jackass who tried to kill me. The bomb in the Lexus!!" Lex attempted to lunge at him, but Alezei kicked him in the leg. Lex crumpled to the ground, yelping in pain.  
  
"Thank your father for your predicament. It was his guns, his bullets that brought you here!"  
  
Lex struggled back into the chair. He raised an eyebrow. "My father's arms trading?! Is that what you're mad about?"  
  
Alexei pistol-whipped Lex in the face. "Your father chose to cut deals with Russian generals: providing them with leading-edge weaponry to fight their dirty little war in Chechnya – my motherland."  
  
"My father has shown questionable business judgment in his eastern European projects, but he's hardly to blame for Russia's policy on Chechnya. Guns don't kill ... people kill. And for the record, I voted against LL Tech's military contract with the Russian Army."  
  
Alexei scoffed. "So now you expect absolution? Your suits, your cars, your chalets, your wealth ... all of it ... paid for with the profits of Luthor Corp.'s arms manufacturers." He held Lex's head and glared right into his eyes. "All your prestige and power ... paid for in blood. The blood of my village! My country!!"  
  
Lex listened as Alexei ranted about the Russians' campaign to quell partisan unrest in the countryside outside Grozny, the Chechen capital. His paramilitary force was on the verge of expelling the Russians for good. Then Lionel Luthor visited Moscow. Within months, the Russians had new tanks, laser-guided rockets and armour-piercing bullets. Village after village soon fell to the Red Army. With ammunition and supplies running low, Alexei and a few hundred die-hard partisans made their stand. The Russians would settle for nothing less than complete victory. Alexei's mother waved at the bulldozer, trying to save her little house from demolition.  
  
A Russian sniper, eager for combat, made a fatal mistake. And shot her dead.  
  
With a Luthor-manufactured bullet.  
  
Finally, Lex grasped the severity of his predicament. "I'm ... sorry for your loss. I can't blame you for hating Luthor Corp. If I had a say in the matter ..."  
  
"You would do nothing," Alexei spit on the floor. "Safe in the walls of your estate, you have no reason to care about the suppression of my people. Now ... now you will understand Chechnya's suffering."  
  
Alexei sat down and drank a glass of water. "Thirsty, Mr. Luthor? When my village fell to the Russians, I fled on foot to the border. I did not drink anything for days. I ate dates and field berries to fill my empty stomach."  
  
He wants revenge and I'm going to die, Lex feared. "I'll – I'll pay you whatever you want. Name your price. Just let me go. One quick call to my Swiss bankers ... and you'll be set for life."  
  
"What kind of fool do you take me for?" Alexei laughed. "The police won't find us. The taxi is already at the bottom of the Thames. This building is slated for demolition. Sadly, you won't be here to witness it." Alexei placed his gun on Lex's temple.  
  
"Perhaps I will shoot you in the brain. Let you die, then dump your body in the Thames. Scotland Yard would blame it on Russian mobsters. Or perhaps I will shoot you in the stomach. Much more painful. And longer. You would die ... slowly ... as your life-force bled away on the floor. Into the gutter."  
  
Lex was fading again into unconsciousness. Alexei slapped him awake. "Stay with me, Lex. No sleep for you! Grozny would have fallen by month's end, if not for Luthor weaponry! The people of Chechnya now suffer, while the world turns their eyes away. Be glad, Mr. Luthor. Your death will show the world our desperation."  
  
"What do you want from me!!!" Lex shouted.  
  
"Every night since my mother's death, I have heard her scream. The screams of my neighbours as the Russians avenged their losses. You, my friend, will scream. You will shout to the heavens for mercy. And have none." Alexei unlocked the safety switch on his gun.  
  
Lionel summoned whatever strength he had left. "Wait!!! I'm not Lionel Luthor! You have a beef with him?! You take the fight to him! Don't use me as a scapegoat!"  
  
Alexei gripped Lex's throat. "My vengeance will be to see your father's face ... as he realizes that all his dreams and plans for a dynasty ... crumble to dust! His seed wiped off the earth ..." Alexei noticed that Lex was glancing at his watch. "Missing an appointment? I'm afraid you'll be missing all of your engagements."  
  
Something's going to have to happen, Lex hoped. My people have to find me. Soon. Or I'll be joining that taxicab at the bottom of the Thames ... 


	7. CH. 7 (NEW!)

[The Torch office]  
  
Chloe clicked on the TV.  
  
"... ABC Special Report, live from the Hall of Justice in Gotham City ... We are going live to the press conference of industrialist Bruce Wayne on the events concerning his butler, Alfred Pennyworth – a former captain in the British Army ..."  
  
Bruce cleared his throat. "I am here to speak up on behalf of my friend, Alfred. I must begin by stressing that I value the right of the press to report news and express opinions. News and opinions based on solid FACT. I have consulted my lawyers. We have reviewed the alleged documents and witness testimony that supposedly blame Alfred for three decades of Anglo- Irish sectarian violence."  
  
"We find them to be circumstantial at best. At worst, they are questionable and suspect. I and my legal team will get to the bottom of this situation. I promised Alfred that I would not intervene in his business. I will refrain from acting in the UK, for the moment. Here in America, I can and will act – with all the resources at my disposal. For those newspapers, radio and television stations that have jumped on this story and have presented unsubstantiated allegations as fact, you will be hearing from my attorneys. I will not stand by and allow certain members of the American media to slander a man who –"  
  
Bruce's eyes watered. "Excuse me – a man who, by his very nature, is a just and honourable man. Beyond reproach. He rarely spoke of his tour of duty in Northern Ireland, but – again and again – he stressed that he made every effort to prevent the bloodshed on what is now known as Bloody Sunday. I just returned a call to Prince Philip, who was upset at the treatment Alfred has been receiving from some so-called journalists. I will be launching legal proceedings tomorrow morning. Legitimate members of the press need not fear. To those outlets with less-than-honest motivations, I will see you in court."  
  
The horde of reporters exploded in a flurry of questions. Chloe tried to listen to their questions, but the broadcast was soon interrupted.  
  
"... we regret to interrupt our coverage, but we just have breaking word ... Lex Luthor, son of corporate juggernaut Lionel Luthor, has been kidnapped ... I repeat, Lex Luthor has been kidnapped in London ... a cab driver has come forward with details ... Scotland Yard has been notified, and due to the prominence of the Luthor family, the FBI have dispatched agents to assist in the investigation ... we will track this story as it develops ..."  
  
Chloe dashed to the phone. "Hello? Hi, Mrs. Kent, is Clark there? He's at the hospital? Lois Lane fell ill?? Yeah, we just saw it on TV. Lex was kidnapped! Okay, I'll meet you at the hospital in half an hour."  
  
"We've got to get to the hospital!" Chloe exclaimed. Pete, stunned at the whirlwind of crises, shook his head and hopped into the car. First the whole 'Alfred affair' ... now Lois is sick and Lex is missing-in-action? That's way too much drama for the size of this town!  
  
[Abandoned warehouse, London's east end]  
  
Lex was expecting an evening of torture. It was already past midnight. Sure, Alexei had pistol-whipped him a few times when he dared to look at him a certain way. And one time he kicked Lex's wounded leg when the billionnaire heir refused to answer quickly. But he was still breathing, still alive.  
  
For now.  
  
"Why do you keep looking at your watch? Were you supposed to be catching a flight back to America?" Alexei laughed. "You will never see America again."  
  
"Who are you to pass judgment on me? Just because I'm my father's son doesn't mean I subscribe to his callous attitudes. I knew his Russian dealings had consequences, but he never seemed to grasp the bigger picture."  
  
Alexei looked out the window. Ambulance sirens wailed in the distance. "You only say this now because you know your life is slipping away. Spare me your shallow pleas. You have chosen to profit off the suffering of others. Now you must pay the ... ultimate price for your ignorance!!"  
  
Lex glanced at his watch. He had installed a GPS tracking chip in his Rolex – in the event a situation like this occurred. His failure to appear at the Luthor Publishing board meeting would have set in motion a chain of events. His personal security team would uplink to the satellite and track his movements. Once the location was determined, they would inform the authorities.  
  
The ambulance sirens wailed louder. And closer. Several cars zoomed towards the warehouse. Two helicopters flooded the surrounding buildings with blinding lights.  
  
"The police!!" Enraged, Alexei ripped the watch from Lex's wrist and smashed it with his heel.  
  
"It's over, Alexei. The authorities have been tracking me since my absence from a board meeting. In moments, London police will arrest you. Quit now while you're still ahead."  
  
"This is the police!" an officer yelled from outside. "Step outside, with your hands raised."  
  
"Mr. Luthor?" an FBI agent inquired, "Are you alright?"  
  
Before Lex could answer, Alexei kicked Lex again. "The Luthor boy stays with me. I want safe passage to Cuba, or Lex does not leave London alive!!"  
  
Alexei glanced at the window. Heavily armed ETF officers filed around the main entrance. They were not here to negotiate.  
  
No, Alexei swore. No!! It will not end like this. It must not! At gunpoint, Lex was forced through a corridor that connected to an isolated lot.  
  
A truck driver, seemingly unaware of the police raid to the south, lit a cigarette. His delivery was supposed to be here in 10 minutes.  
  
Alexei clubbed the driver unconscious with his gun. "Get into the truck, Luthor." Lex sat in the passenger seat.  
  
London's finest turned around to see a huge tractor trailer race towards their small cruisers. Officers dived for cover as the truck smashed through the blockade, ripping their cars into metal shards.  
  
Alexei floored the pedal and crashed through a metal fence. He had visions of a glorious collision into Westminster Abbey. In a plume of smoke and debris, he would tell the Western world of Chechnya's suffering. We are not the terrorists. The Red Army – and their arms suppliers – are the real terror-mongers.  
  
"Alexei! You have every right to be angry at Lionel Luthor. You're right, okay! Let me help you. Turn yourself in, and I promise you, you will have lawyers, news conferences, exclusive interviews with my papers. Only the truth will take away my father's pride, his arrogance. Think about it, Alexei. Tell the world your story. I will make them listen!" Alexei gazed – stone-faced – as he sped closer and closer to Westminster.  
  
He would not listen. It was his intention to die. Great, Lex thought, he wants to be a martyr.  
  
"You ... you ... would help me?" Alexei mumbled.  
  
"Yes! End this now and I promise you, my father will answer for his callousness."  
  
Alexei scoffed. "You would destroy the very man who gave you such power?!"  
  
"I'm my own man," Lex declared, "It's about time Lionel Luthor realized –"  
  
He didn't finish his sentence. The police had set a strip of spikes along London Bridge. The truck's tires burst. Sparks flew as the hub caps chewed into the concrete. The truck careened on its side, finally sliding to a halt midway across the bridge. The truck stretched along all the lanes, blocking off the pursuing police cars. We're alone on this bridge now, Lex feared. Anything could happen.  
  
At the other end of the bridge stood an impenetrable, metre-thick concrete barrier and a brigade of British soldiers. After the events of 9/11, the Prime Minister would take no chances.  
  
Bruised on his forehead, Alexei dragged Lex out of the cab. "So it ends here," Alexei mused. He aimed the gun at Lex.  
  
"Don't. It's not worth it. I'm ... not worth it. My offer still stands. Give up, and I'll do everythng in my power to see that you have some degree of justice."  
  
Alexei slowly lowered his gun. "And your father?"  
  
Lex scowled. "His actions of late are threatening to run the company into the ground!" He took one step closer. "Just put down the gun. My father and his contacts in the Russian Army stole much of your life away from you. I'm giving you the chance to take back your life ... and reclaim your future."  
  
At the barrier, an Army sniper focused his crosshairs on Alexei. "If you have a clear shot ..." his captain began, but the soldier understood his work. Lex was still partly obscuring his line of sight.  
  
Alexei thought about Lex's offer. It was tempting, but was he really going to help me denounce Russia's policy towards Chechnya. Perhaps the shame of worldwide exposure will do what his fallen partisans could not: to drive the Russian tanks out of my homeland. Forever. Can I give up this chance – this one opportunity to restore some pride in the Chechen people?  
  
Alexei dropped the gun. He stepped backward – away from his prisoner. Lex heaved a sigh of relief, then caught the gleam of a rifle targeting scope. No. No!!  
  
"Good night," the sniper remarked. Alexei's head snapped back, propelling his body over the railing. Lex tried to grab hold of him, but his leg was in such agony. He gazed in horror as Alexei, the Chechen freedom fighter who only wanted to bury his mother, plunged over the bridge. And into the Thames.  
  
"Why?" Lex yelled at the soldiers. "Why?! He wanted to give up!"  
  
Lex saw a piece of paper flutter in the wind, then land beside him. He picked it up. A faded, yellow photograph. Alexei, in happier times, smiling. Beside his proud mother. Lex clutched the photo in his fist.  
  
The police had finally forced a clearing amidst the truck's wreckage. Scores of police officers, Luthor Corp. bodyguards ... and Lionel Luthor jogged towards him.  
  
"You're hurt. I'm sure it'll heal. None the worse for wear, considering the circumstances," Lionel remarked. A few bodyguards supported Lex on their shoulders.  
  
"After the hospital, I'll be leaving London," Lex grumbled, "I'm going home. To Smallville."  
  
Father, you may be friend to the great noble houses of Europe, Lex sneered to himself, but Alexei prepared to die for his beliefs. I doubt you would show such courage – if or when your own time comes. 


	8. CH. 8 - Conclusion

[Outside Westminster Abbey]  
  
Eight-year-old Jane was happy. She was spending a day in the city.  
  
"Mummy, can I have some ice cream?"  
  
"After lunch, Janie," her mother replied. After lunch.  
  
A motor boat stopped on the Thames. You could see Westminster Abbey from here.  
  
[Committee room 'A', Parliament, London]  
  
Alfred had been sitting here since 9AM, before the Parliamentary Board of Inquiry into the chain of events leading to the so-called Bloody Sunday massacre. The Minister of Defense and several MPs grilled him over and over again.  
  
"Did you – or did you not – give the order to fire, Mr. Pennyworth?"  
  
"You were one of the ranking officers responsible for the Londonderry company. Surely any order for offensive action would have to come from ONE of you?"  
  
"Did you act because you were ORDERED to provoke the protesters into confrontation?!"  
  
Alfred grew weary of these grand-standing politicians. "Once again, my orders were – specifically – not to engage in confrontation unless attacked." How many times do I have to say that?  
  
Mr. Entwistle picked up a document. "But it states in this memorandum to MI5, clearly, that you and you alone, Captain, recommended that lethal force can and should be used to counter the growing radicalism of the republican movement. You wanted to send them a message, didn't you?"  
  
Alfred stood up. "No." He pounded the table. "No!! I did everything ... everything possible not to resort to an aggressive response. I can't explain why these documents suggest that I encouraged the violence. I did not! I served in Her Majesty's army with pride and distinction. If you cannot believe the facts, all that I can offer is my word. I did not give the order to fire. I have lived with the shame of that awful Sunday for 30 years. That day should never have occurred! If there was a plot to instigate violence there, it was not my doing ..."  
  
"And all we have is your word?!" Mr. Entwistle scoffed.  
  
"His word is good enough for me," one voice stated. The committee members turned around. Prince Philip, in his full uniform as colonel-in-chief of Alfred's old regiment, took a seat beside Alfred.  
  
"P-Prince Philip, Y-Your Highness??" the Minister of Defense inquired. "If I had known you would be here, I would have made special arrangements ..."  
  
"I'm here as Alfred's friend. You want a character witness ... well, here I am."  
  
An aide whispered something in the prince's ear. "Excellent. Scotland Yard has just begun an investigation. It appears there has been some file- tampering at the Ministry of Defense. Some files pertaining to this very investigation. You're blaming a man ... one man ... for a conflict that was born over 300 years ago. For political gain, expedience or whatever you wish to call it. I suggest that you suspend this inquiry until such time as you have the facts before you. All the facts. Proceed with this character assassination at your peril."  
  
The minister's secretary mumbled something in his ear. "Well, I guess we're in a bit of pickle, aren't we? The Prime Minister agrees with your assessment, Your Highness. Alfred Pennyworth, you may go – with our apologies." The committee members rushed out of the room. To escape the prince's glare. And to avoid the political shrapnel that would undoubtedly spray over all of them once the Prime Minster learns more about this fiasco.  
  
Mr. Entwistle extended a hand. "Sorry about all this. A misunderstanding, you see?" He was afraid that Alfred's boss, a certain Mr. Bruce Wayne, would crucify him in court (or worse, in the press). My prime ministerial dreams are fading quickly.  
  
Alfred stood before him. "I know a rat when I smell one. What was your career before public office, hmm? Section chief at MI5, wasn't it. The order to fire that day in Londonderry certainly came from someone higher than those on the front. I wonder ..."  
  
Mr. Entwistle quickly gathered his things and left the committee room.  
  
"Your Highness, I'm sorry you had to be dragged into this."  
  
"Nonsense. The colonel-in-chief is supposed to stand up for his men, right?" Prince Philip slapped Alfred on the shoulder. An entourage of aides and security personnel escorted the prince out of Parliament.  
  
Alfred shook his head. The media circus. The slanders. The lies. "... with our apologies." What a load of crap! Master Bruce will surely want to eviscerate the London tabloids. But he won't. Not after I have a few words with him. It's better to let the matter rest. Scotland Yard will find the guilty parties responsible for the file-tampering. There will be some degree of justice. There's no need to re-ignite old hatreds.  
  
Alfred glanced down the block. A girl and her mother were strolling past Westminster Abbey. Mr. Entwistle had clicked on his door opener. The BMW was his latest purchase. A statement of his prestige. And power. Power attracted attention. How else could he manage to support the wife ... and his mistress. A former pin-up girl, no less. This mess will blow over, Mr. Entwistle confidently believed. He started the ignition.  
  
The BMW ... and Mr. Entwistle's political ambitions ... exploded in a searing pyre of flame and smoke. Alfred dived behind a garbage bin. Metal scraps sprayed across the street. A rain of glass showered the sidewalk. Car alarms shrieked along the street.  
  
A shredded teddy bear arched through the air, landing mere feet from the former British officer. Alfred heard the sirens. And the screams.  
  
"Janie! Janie!! Oh my God! My baby! Noooo!!!"  
  
Alfred ran to the mother. "I'll call an ambulance!"  
  
The mother darted a hateful glance towards him. "You!! The British officer. It was you and your kind that started all this! You and your bloody guns!" She held her dead daughter in her arms.  
  
"You're no better than the IRA. Butchers, all of you!!"  
  
Alfred slowly backed away. Soon, paramedics and police officers surrounded the area. They tried to resurrect the girl. It was no use.  
  
Alfred ran. Past the Parliament. Past Buckingham Palace. He stopped at an aging statue of Lord Wellington. A hero of the Empire. He slumped on the pavement ... and set loose thirty years of guilt in a stream of tears.  
  
On the Thames, Sean started his motor boat. The Brotherhood of the Lyre had made their statement. And the radical republican movement had erased another detested pro-unionist enemy. He laughed. Fare thee well, Mr. Entwistle. And burn in Hell, you English bastard.  
  
[Smallville hospital]  
  
Jonathan and Martha Kent were glued to the waiting lounge television.  
  
"... we have good news to report ... Lex Luthor has survived a harrowing ordeal, narrowly escaping death at the hands of his captor, a reputed Chechen mercenary known only as 'Alexei' ... British snipers shot him dead before he could harm the sole heir to the Luthor empire ..."  
  
"... BBC reports that an IRA splinter group, the Brotherhood of the Lyre, has claimed responsibility for the assassination of right-wing MP and leadership hopeful Miles Entwistle ... in a related story, Alfred Pennyworth, former soldier and long-time butler to Bruce Wayne, has been exonerated ... Prince Philip himself intervened in support of his friend ..."  
  
"It's good to hear that Alfred pulled through," Martha remarked, "the London tabloids were merciless!"  
  
"And Lex survived yet another brush with death," Jonathan grumbled – not too enthusiastically.  
  
"Lex seems to attract cut-throat assassins like a moth to a flame," Chloe declared.  
  
"Yeah, well, one day he's gonna get burned," Pete retorted.  
  
Down the hall, Clark sat with Lois. She had recovered.  
  
"Did the doctors come up with a diagnosis?" Clark asked.  
  
"They say it was a severe reaction ... to flaxseed. Flaxseed, can you believe it?!" Lois wondered.  
  
I've been to the country before ... and I've never had a reaction like this! It has to be that meteor.  
  
It must be.  
  
She was always willing to accept things at face value. And people.  
  
Not anymore.  
  
Lois had read about the unusual effects of the meteor over the past 15 years. This town ... its people ... there's something odd going on here.  
  
And Clark. How did he manage to get me to the emergency ward? His farm is several miles away. Maybe he got a ride.  
  
Maybe.  
  
I don't like maybe. Either I have a strange reaction to flaxseed, or this meteor could be the biggest mystery this side of Metropolis. I need to know.  
  
"So what are your plans now?" Clark asked.  
  
"Huh?! Well, I go back to Metropolis tomorrow. My mom will be here tonight. Back to school ..."  
  
"And then ...?" Clark hoped she would eventually go to Metropolis U., where their paths may yet cross again.  
  
"I might stick with the creative writing program. We'll see." She smiled and held Clark's hand. "Thanks. Thanks for being there."  
  
Chloe glanced through the wardroom window. Clark Kent and Lois Lane – holding hands. And the way Clark was looking at her.  
  
Through all the years I've known Clark, he has never looked at me like that. Not once. Such complete and unconditional devotion. And understanding.  
  
Do I understand Clark Kent? I mean, really, do I? Lois Lane has known Clark for only a few days, but she's already unravelled what makes Clark tick.  
  
"Take care, Lois, sleep tight," Clark said.  
  
Then he gave the young Metropolis writer a gentle kiss on the forehead. Such tenderness.  
  
Chloe backed away from the door. She wondered if she could EVER approach that level of affection with Clark. What does Lois know that I don't?  
  
"Hi, Chloe. What's the latest news?"  
  
"In a nutshell, Lex is alive and well, his kidnapper – now dead – was some Chechen radical. Alfred, with the support from Prince Philip, cleared his name ... and some renegade IRA group just blew up an MP ..."  
  
"Well, thanks for the update, Ms. Sullivan." Clark glanced at Lois again.  
  
"You – like her, don't you?" Chloe asked, fearing his answer.  
  
"Yeah," Clark replied, "she's a friend."  
  
"Like me?"  
  
Clark paused. "Yeah, like you."  
  
Clark returned to the waiting lounge. And Chloe shuddered.  
  
"Like you." I'm glad he thinks of me as a trusted friend. But the way he said it.  
  
A friend. Like Pete. Like Bruce Wayne. Like Lex. No, I don't even have the kind of connection Clark has forged with the "billionnaires' club": Lex and Bruce. As if their destinies are – in some way – tied to one another.  
  
Pete will always be Clark's best friend. Nothing will change that fact.  
  
Where does that leave me?  
  
Where I am right now ...  
  
Alone.  
  
Chloe put on a brave face as she returned to the waiting lounge. You can count on me, Clark. I'll always be a friend.  
  
I'm afraid that "a friend" is all that I'll ever be.  
  
She remembered the tender kiss on Lois' forehead. Get well, Lois Lane. And I'd prefer that you don't fall for Clark Kent.  
  
That's my job.  
  
EPILOGUE  
  
[Wayne Manor, Gotham City]  
  
Bruce Wayne read the Daily Planet. 'EXCLUSIVE: LEX LUTHOR SPEAKS UP ABOUT CHECHEN WAR. DEMANDS MORATORIUM ON EAST BLOC LUTHOR ARMS SALES. LUTHOR SR. NOT AMUSED'  
  
Hmm, a Luthor civil war.  
  
Alfred walked into the study.  
  
"Alfred, I'm sorry. I know you wanted me to stay out of all this. And just like you said, you were able to handle the whole affair on your own. I just couldn't stand by and let Lionel Luthor and those other muckrackers tarnish your good name."  
  
Alfred clasped Bruce's hand. "I didn't want you dragged into this mess. As long as you have faith, things generally turn out for the best. And if you – EVER – disobey another instruction of mine, Master Bruce, I'll send you to bed without your supper!"  
  
Bruce laughed. "Yes, sir."  
  
The phone rang. Bruce picked it up. "Hello? Lex, how are you? That's good to hear. You want to speak about the Chechen crisis? A news conference at the steps of the UN, eh? I have some friends in the State Department ... I could check for you? Not a problem, not a problem. Alfred's fine. Yeah, thanks for reining in your dad's UK tabloids. Okay, see you in New York"  
  
He hung up the phone. "Lex wants to call for a moratorium on Luthor arms sales to the East Bloc. He says he's determined to push it through, against his father's wishes."  
  
"The son betrays the father," Alfred quipped, "not unexpected in the Luthor household."  
  
"And Alfred?" Bruce continued, "Lex sends his regards." He left for his afternoon meeting at Wayne Corp.  
  
He can keep his regards, Alfred mumbled to himself, I've had my fill of lies and deception. A copy of Lionel Luthor's Brit tabloid, the Gasp! sat on the study table. Bruce monitored everything printed about the inquiry – undoubtedly in preparation for possible legal action. Dated a week after the inquiry cleared his name. 'CHARLES AND CAMILLA: TO WED IN VEGAS?!?' No mention of my exoneration.  
  
Alfred tossed the tabloid in the trash. Lionel Luthor. One day, you shall have your just desserts. If Lex is indeed planning a palace coup, I wish him the best of luck.  
  
Well, maybe not the 'best' of luck.  
  
THE END ... for now.  
  
***  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I will likely continue with another "Bruce fic" later, since these are definitely the most fun. I doubt that I'll have Bruce suit up as 'Batman' anytime soon, though (sorry!).  
  
For now, I have another idea brewing ...  
  
CONCEPT:  
  
'Crossover'  
  
Uh-oh, did you say 'crossover'? For fans of Smallville and/or X-Files, this story is for you. It would take place before the X-Files season finale. Mulder's still in prison. Scully is still teaching at the FBI Academy in Quantico. Agents John Doggett and Monica Reyes are sent to Smallville, Kansas. A series of inexplicable events in this town have attracted official (and not-so-official) attention. Clark's secret is in danger of being exposed ... now more than ever.  
  
TEASER:  
  
Agent Doggett walked through the rows of ploughed dirt.  
  
"You mind telling me why we're in the middle of Kansas?"  
  
Agent Reyes grinned. "We're here to find Dorothy and Toto. They've been reported missing for decades!"  
  
Doggett groaned. "Very funny, Monica. What's so special about Smallville?"  
  
"A meteor landed here about two decades ago. Since then, many strange and inexplicable events have occurred in this town and surrounding areas."  
  
"I hope we're not hunting for Martians," Doggett stated, "That would be Fox Mulder's area of expertise."  
  
They arrived at the Kent farmhouse.  
  
Jonathan Kent opened the door. "Hi, can I help you with something."  
  
Doggett flashed his badge. "I'm Agent Doggett. This is my partner, Agent Reyes."  
  
"FBI, hmm? If this has something to do with Lex Luthor, you'll find him about five miles from here ..."  
  
"Actually," Reyes interjected, "we're here to speak with your son. Clark Kent. Might we have a word with him?"  
  
No, Jonathan feared, they know. They must know. And now they want my son.  
  
*** 


End file.
